


Will You Take Me Back?

by Boeing



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Hawke, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 13:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boeing/pseuds/Boeing
Summary: An alternative to Fenris's Act 3 "Questioning Beliefs" conversation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my working title while writing this was "beyonce's 'drunk in love' plays in the background" in case you were curious

Isabela’s evening was going quite swimmingly; a productive day, Hawke had said to her before he relieved her to go back to the Hanged Man. She, Hawke, Fenris, and Anders had returned sometime earlier from their excursion to the Bone Pit, where they had slain a high dragon—

"You’re shitting me. A high dragon?”

“Yes, that’s right, a high dragon,” Isabela boasted to the bartender, her body halfway on top of the counter. “You should’ve seen the look on Hawke’s face when he saw it drop out of the sky. It was probably the only time I’ve ever seen him ready to shit his pants.”

“I don’t blame him,” Corff muttered as he cleaned out the bottom of a mug with a rag, setting it on the counter. “Hawke’s a strong dude, but a high dragon? Anybody not as strong as him probably would’ve just offed themself at the sight.” Shaking his head, he began filling up the cup with some suspect hard alcohol and passed it to Isabela.

She took it and gave it a long drink, swallowing several times to help offset the burn at the back of her throat. “Man, he wanted to run, but I wouldn’t let him— I mean, a high dragon. When else does an opportunity like this come up?” Isabela laughed, finishing off the last of her first drink, then held it out to the bartender for a refill. “Once it was dead, he kind of just... dropped to his knees and screamed for the better portion of five minutes—”

Isabela’s gaze flickered over to the entrance when she saw it swing open and a familiar, yet unfamiliar, face walked into the bar. The overall mood of the room wasn’t altered— drunkards continued conversing nonsense at top volume— but Isabela felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end when she saw Fenris’s gaze sweep around the room and settle on her. She beckoned him with the crook of his finger; he looked around again as if searching for anywhere else to take his company, but the Hanged Man was packed that night. He visibly shook his head and walked over to where the pirate was sitting.

“Hey there, Fenris. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’m not here for you,” he said, taking the seat next to her. He was clearly some kind of irritated; she had seen him in a good mood, once upon a time, and this was most certainly not it. “I just came for a drink.”

Isabela laughed and turned back towards the counter, where her drink had been refilled— she didn’t touch it, though, knowing that something must have been seriously wrong if Fenris came to the Hanged Man to drink. “Thought you were too good for this place.”

“I am,” Fenris said simply, watching Corff as he came towards him and took his order. “But I’m feeling below myself right now.”

“Care to elaborate?” Isabela asked.

“Not really.”

Isabela pouted, shifting minutely closer to the elf. “Come on, Fenris. We’re friends. You can tell me.”

Fenris took his drink in one go— shit, that elf could drink if he really wanted to, Isabela had always pinned him as more of a wine guy— and looked coldly at her with those big, green eyes she always loved. “We’re not friends.”

“Bullshit,” she said, sitting back. “Why’d you sit with me?”

“There’s nowhere else to sit.”

“So you wouldn’t have if there was?”

The pause before Fenris spoke was almost negligible, but it was there, giving Isabela the satisfaction of the answer she really wanted. “No.”

“So then where would you have sat? All by your lonesome?”

With a heavy sigh, Fenris made a show of setting his cup down on the counter. “Why… are you interrogating me?”

“Because you’re being kind of a hardass, Fenris. And I can tell something is wrong with you, and I want to help.”

Fenris snorted and brought his second drink to his mouth, magically refilled by Corff, who was no longer the focus of Isabela’s attention. “You made one selfless decision in bringing the Tome of Koslun to get the Qunari out of Kirkwall. You have no right to dig into my business in the name of compassion.”

“That… doesn’t even make sense.”

“Of course it does,” Fenris said brusquely, taking his second drink slower, but still too fast for someone who did not regularly drink like that. “What reason do I have to believe that you want to know about my personal life because you want to help me? I can extrapolate your motives based on your past behaviors, Isabela.”

“Woah, big vocabulary. Okay,” the pirate said, holding up her hands in surrender. She picked up her drink and pretended to swallow it, but simply let it sit against her lips. She set it down and pushed it down the counter away from her, and motioned for Corff to come take it. “If we don’t want to talk about your feelings, what do you want to talk about?”

“Who said we have to talk?”

“I do. You know me, I can’t shut up,” Isabela laughed, putting her hand on his forearm. His fingers twitched at the contact but made no attempt to stop her. She deliberately left a minute of silence, watching Fenris as he finished his third drink. Man, he was not going to be fun for Isabela to deal with later. Maybe Varric would let him share his bed for the night until he sobered up?

Isabela would pay to see that.

She started talking at him about her pirate days on her last ship, not really saying much of anything substantial; Isabela could see easily that once she stopped drilling him, he retreated back into the confines of his own mind to think about Maker knows what— which, pretty soon, Isabela expected to also become privy to. The beginning signs of drunkenness soon became apparent in Fenris’s eyes, and they came on rather quick; his eyes were rather glassy as he stared down into his cup, which held the dredges of his fourth drink.

“—Oh, hey, there’s Hawke.”

Isabela regained Fenris’s attention when she said that, and he whipped his head around to look at the door; she wasn’t lying. Hawke was there, catching up with Varric at the far end of the room, and Isabela threw him a smile and a wave. He returned it and also tried to greet Fenris, but the elf turned his head and propped his head on his hand, hiding the side of his face from the other man.

Hawke glanced at Isabela, asking her ‘what’s with him?’ wordlessly. She shrugged.

Isabela had expected the Champion to go upstairs to Varric’s suite, but he simply gave the dwarf a mock salute before taking his leave; it was only once he was gone did Fenris lift his head. Isabela met his eyes as soon as he did, and she could see the shame deep behind them, and her heart almost softened at the sight. Almost. “Hey. Hey, Fenris, what’s wrong?” she cooed, putting her hand supportingly on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off with a discontented noise.

“I’m a fool.”

“Sometimes, yes,” Isabela agreed, jokingly. “But there must be a specific reason you’re saying that now.”

“I…” Fenris trailed off, breathing in deeply; he held the air in for several seconds before exhaling it all out his nose at once. He waved his hand around in the air, setting his cup down on the counter. Corff made to refill it, but Isabela held his hand up to stop him. “I just— I don’t know. I thought…” he sighed. “I can’t explain it to you. You don’t believe in regrets.”

“Just because I don’t have any regrets doesn’t mean I’m not willing to listen to yours.”

The elf shook his head, white strands hanging over his brow. “Me and Hawke…”

Isabela chuckled. “Everybody knows, sweetheart. You wear his favor where everybody can see it.”

“I know, I know, I know. I know. But… we…” Fenris licked his lips, searching for the right words. 

“Did you… get into an argument with him?” She offered.

“No. No. We…” he sighed, relenting. “We slept together once. Three years ago. But during it, I… I saw my old life. My _old life_ , Isabela. I couldn’t look at him. I left after it was over and we haven’t talked about it. Ever.”

“What do you mean… your old life?”

“Before…” Fenris gestured vaguely at his body, mainly his tattoos. “This. Before I was a slave.”

“So… do you regret sleeping with him, or—”

“No, no, no. Maker, no. It was one of the best experiences I’ve had in my life,” Fenris murmured, his head bowed. “I wish I stayed. After I left, I kept looking for… for… what I could see of my old life. I kept trying to get it, but I could never get there. And when I finally… realized that, it was too late to go back to him. I couldn’t explain to him why I left him. I couldn’t. I couldn't..." Fenris’s body heaved, once, twice, and Isabela swooped in to help straighten him. She rubbed his back, the once mildly amused expression on her face gone and replaced by one of rare, genuine concern. “I’m going to vomit thinking about it.”

Isabela smiled weakly. “From that, or perhaps from all that you drank.”

“No, no,” he insisted, grabbing her wrist; his grip was much stronger than one would assume he could be with such lithe elven fingers. Who was also drunk. “Once I stopped thinking about before I was a slave, I thought more about when I was, and how Danarius used to touch me, that son of a bitch, and it only made me want Hawke to touch me again— he was perfect. _Is_ perfect. And I’ve been thinking about it every day for the past three years, and with Danarius dead, I—”

“Fenris,” Isabela said sternly, grabbing his shoulder. This discussion was getting a little _T-M-I_ and Isabela could not provide the _T-L-C_ that Fenris needed. “Hey, Fenris. Fenris. Listen. You’re not going to feel any better about this if you don’t talk to Hawke about it.”

“I can’t. I can’t. I don’t know what to say. He won’t forgive me. He probably hates me. It’s better that way.”

“Is it, though? Because I doubt that.”

The elf shook his head, loosening his grasp on Isabela.

“Hawke is selfless. Understanding. An all-around good kind o’ guy. You know this. We all do. Regardless of what any of our personal reasons for following him are, this is what makes us stay.”

“Even you?”

She nodded. There was a brief pause; Fenris seemed so much more exhausted than he had been in the midst of his venting, and Isabela recognized that. “Fenris, I’m going to take you to Hawke’s, alright?”

“What? No.”

“Yes,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “You can’t stay with me, I don’t trust you to be all by yourself in your mansion right now, and you need to talk to Hawke. It doesn’t have to be tonight— in fact, I recommend that you don’t try to talk to him about it tonight. Not in this condition, anyhow.” Isabela waved a small pouch of coin at Corff, then left it on the counter before leading Fenris towards the front door. “He’ll understand.”

Fenris grunted as he was hauled out into the cold midnight air, one arm around Isabela for support. “You can’t know that.”

“Oh, but I can.”

The elf threw her a look, and she simply laughed as he guided Fenris out of Lowtown toward Hawke’s estate. The longer they walked, the more Fenris became a drag, but Isabela reasoned that she had lifted bags of coins heavier than he— however, it was a bit of a relief to finally drop off all the dead weight at Hawke’s doorstep. Not literally, of course. She held him up as she pounded on the front door, only giving it five or so seconds between knocks before she got impatient and knocked again. The third time around, as made to lift her hand again, Hawke himself— she had been expecting Bodahn— pulled open the door, dressed in his silky maroon robes, with a mildly annoyed look on his face. “What in the name of Andraste—” he started angrily, but then noticed Fenris hanging off of Isabela’s shoulder; he closed his mouth with a click of his teeth and glanced questioningly at the pirate.

“Special delivery.”

“Fuck you,” was the muttered response from Fenris before she transferred him from her care into Hawke’s.

“He’s slammed. Watch him for me, would you?”

“Oh, I, well—” Hawke saved Fenris from falling at his feet, holding him up with one arm around his shoulder. “Okay. See you around, Isabela.”

“See ya.”

Hawke nudged the door closed with his foot and carefully helped Fenris up the stairs. Not a word was said between them, and every time Hawke looked over at Fenris’s face, the elf’s eyes were averted, staring off into nothingness.

Fenris collapsed on the bed with a squeak— from both the springs and his mouth— and Hawke took a seat next to him on the edge. He helped him remove his gauntlets and breastplate, but left his tunic and leggings on. “Are you alright?” he asked as he worked away at the clasps, his voice soft.

The only response Fenris could will himself to give was a half-hearted shrug and, “Yes, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Alright,” Hawke nodded with no argument. He finally got the last of Fenris’s armor off and put it down on the bedside table. He stood, and Fenris held out his hand.

“Wait... where are you going?”

“I was going to go sleep on the sofa in the library.”

“No,” Fenris whispered. “Stay.”

Hawke’s expression flickered to slight surprise but faded into one of fondness. He took Fenris’s hand in his and allowed the other man to pull him into the bed. Nothing else was said; the elf’s drunkenness knocked him out within minutes, and the contentedness that Hawke felt, being this close to Fenris again, had him following not soon after.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fenris would be realistically a lot more hungover than how i wrote him but w/e i did it for the sex
> 
> feminine terms are used for hawke’s genitalia

Fenris slept well through the morning; slats of mid-day sun slipped into the room between the curtains. Hawke was no longer in the bed with him, but the warmth from his presence still lingered. Fenris swung his legs over the edge of the bed and began to sit up slowly, trying not to aggravate whatever post-hangover symptoms he was going to suffer that morning.

His head throbbed, and there were a couple of bruises he didn’t notice last night, probably from knocking himself against various crates and barrels when Isabela was yanking him this way and that while she was bringing him to Hawke’s home the previous night.

He sighed. He remembered the general idea of all that he told Isabela last night; hopefully that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass later. At least he hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of Hawke…

Walking out the bedroom door, Fenris could see light coming from the kitchen, which was always bright from its large, curtainless windows, and hear the noises of various cookware being banged together. Fenris’s mouth curled in a small smile as he stepped lightly down the stairs and poked his head into the kitchen, scanning for the human.

Hawke’s torso was halfway inside one of the low cabinets, presumably looking for something. He muttered under his breath of ‘something special’, seemingly unaware of Fenris’s entrance. The elf took the chance to try and sneak up on the other man, but Hawke pulled himself out and stood up before Fenris was able to get into position. Damn. A lost opportunity.

Hawke smiled at him when he caught his eye and waved the obscure cooking utensil at him that he had presumably been looking for. “Good morning, Fenris,” he said, setting his… thing on the counter. It looked like a sifter, but not quite. “Are you… feeling alright?”

“Better,” Fenris nodded, slowly making his way over to where Hawke was standing. “I do have a bit of a headache, though.”

“Well, Isabela did say that you got nearly falling-down drunk. I’m not surprised,” Hawke chuckled as he pulled a sack of flour out from yet another compartment. “You never go to the Hanged Man to drink, though. What was the occasion?”

“I…” Fenris sighed, leaning up against the counter. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“About what? About your experience getting drunk or the events leading up to it?”

“The, ah… the second one.”

Hawke sensed the sudden seriousness in Fenris’s tone and stepped closer to him, trying to meet his gaze. “Fenris,” he started, hand touching— almost experimentally— on his upper arm. “Is... everything okay?”

“Listen, Hawke…” Fenris started, tensing slightly at Hawke’s touch, not sure how he should react to it— he wanted to lean into it, let Hawke take him in his arms, but how would Hawke react? “Killing Danarius finally got me thinking about… what happened between us three years ago.”

“Interesting connection. But continue.”

Fenris smiled, reminded of Hawke’s good nature— was Isabela right? Did he really understand, and that Fenris really had been a fool to walk out that night? Or did he think that Fenris was about to cut it off and was relieved to finally be free from that tie?

But no use worrying about it now. If he didn’t get it all out in this moment, he would have to harbor it in his body for the rest of his life and have the regret of not saying it eat at his insides. “I’m sorry that I walked out on you that night. I wanted to stay, more than anything, but I had so many memories of my past life come back to me at once that I couldn’t deal with them… reasonably. I thought it would be better if we didn’t talk about it, since I didn’t want to face the possible rejection that would come with me… telling you how I really felt. I thought it would be better to have you think it was merely a physical thing between us so that you didn’t have to hear me whine about my memories.”

“Fenris…”

“And I realize now that that was foolish. For the past three years, I have missed you with my entire being even when you were standing right next to me. It felt like you were so far away because I had drifted so deep into my own self-pity. And with Danarius dead, and what you told me, I finally realized that I didn’t have to let my memories hold me back, because I had a whole future ahead of me—” Fenris leaned in, his hand cupping the side of Hawke’s face, “And I didn’t want to spend it without you at my side. If you’ll still have me.”

Hawke smiled, bringing Fenris’s face close to his with both hands. His answer came in the form of a deep kiss; Fenris returned it in earnest and wrapped his hands around Hawke’s waist, pulling him as close together as they could get. Hawke broke the kiss for just a moment to breathe, his forehead resting against Fenris’s. “I would have no one else, Fenris,” he whispered, raising one hand to brush back a strand of white hair from his face. “I understand what you were feeling. We don’t have to talk about the details now— or ever— but just now that I’m always willing to listen to your so-called ‘whining’.”

Fenris kissed him again, one hand moving down to knead at Hawke’s ass. The Champion smiled against the elf’s lips, laughing lightly. “Hold on a moment,” he said, putting a finger to Fenris’s lips; he pulled away from their embrace, albeit a bit reluctantly. “I was going to make you, ah— well, perhaps it would be more accurate to call it brunch now, since it’s way past the hour for breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that for me right now, you know…”

“Of course I do,” Hawke said, going over to where he had his supplies laid out on the table. “We’re gonna spend our lives together, aren’t we? It seems appropriate that I make you meals every once in awhile.”

“I don’t mean that,” Fenris murmured, closing the distance between them once again. “I just had a different idea of what we could be doing right now. I’ve been craving your touch for so long, Hawke.”

“It has been quite awhile, hasn’t it?” Hawke whispered, letting his hands rest on the elf’s slim hips. “We should take this upstairs if we’re going to—”

“Nonsense,” Fenris said, reaching behind Hawke to rest his hands on the back of his thighs. He lifted Hawke up of the counter, eliciting a gasp from the larger man.

“Fenris, we’re not the only ones in this house—”

“So?” He asked, one hand working its way underneath the hem of his shirt and pushing it up over Hawke's chest so that his tits were on full display; Fenris surged forward and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently until he could feel it harden on his tongue.

“Maker, Fenris—!”

The elf tugged the loose article of clothing off the remainder of the way and chucked it off to the side, then relented. “Fine, we’ll do it your way,” he said, picking Hawke back up and carrying him out the door. Hawke wrapped his legs around Fenris’s waist and his arms around his neck, his mouth pressed against his jawline.

“My shirt—”

“You won’t need it, love.”

Hawke shivered at that, holding onto the elf tighter as they went up the stairs. Fenris dropped Hawke haphazardly on the bed, causing it to bounce a bit as he climbed on top of him, straddling his stomach.

Fenris was still fully clothed, but Hawke was bare from the waist up, his small breasts exposed; looked like he hadn’t bothered to bind after he woke up. The elf rubbed one of his nipples with his thumb, earning him a small whine from the other man, but Fenris wasn’t about to hold off any longer; he reached behind him and began playing with the string on Hawke’s pants while Hawke undid the elf’s tunic. Fenris got off of Hawke momentarily so that Hawke could pull his pants down and toss them to the floor, Fenris’s leggings following suit moments later.

Once they were both naked, Fenris climbed back on top of Hawke and crushed their lips together in a heated kiss; Hawke’s hands always found its way into Fenris’s hair, pulling and tugging this way and that and combing his fingers through the silky strands and running his nails along his scalp, making goosebumps rise along Fenris’s neck as he let out of a shuddering breath into his lover’s mouth.

“I love you,” Hawke whispered, the words ghosting so lightly over Fenris’s soft lips; Fenris replied with a whimper rather than words, but Hawke understood its meaning nonetheless.

Fenris’s hand traveled down between their bodies and between Hawke’s thighs, one finger spreading his folds to find dripping wet heat inside. “Maker,” one of them whispered— maybe it had been both— and they both devolved into moans as Fenris wasted no time in rubbing gently at Hawke’s clit and pressing his finger to his entrance.

“Wait,” Hawke said, pushing Fenris off of him and onto his back on the bed. The elf looked at him questioningly, and Hawke answered that question by situating himself above Fenris’s face, leaning down to talk hold of his lover’s cock, already half-hard. Fenris enthusiastically grabbed Hawke’s hips and dove his tongue inside of his sex, causing him to let out a surprised gasp.

It had been a long time since Hawke had sex; after Fenris broke it off three years ago, Hawke largely held out in case they ever had the chance to rekindle that— that, and he didn’t want to explain what happened to any of his other companions what happened between him and Fenris if he ever took one of them to bed. Sure, he’d gone to the Blooming Rose a few times when his own fingers couldn’t satisfy him— no shame there— but he had always been the one being pleasured, not pleasuring.

Hawke took Fenris’s cock gingerly in his mouth, careful to not to scrape his teeth against the head as he sucked it gently and teased the slit with his tongue. He was unpracticed and going slowly, but judging by the vibrations Hawke felt in his core from Fenris’s moans, he was enjoying it well enough. 

Fenris wrapped his lips around Hawke’s clit and sucked roughly, causing the man on top of him to groan and lift his head off of Fenris’s cock. “Shit, Fenris,” Hawke muttered, breathing hard. “I’m gonna come, Fenris, if you keep doing that—”

Instead of putting Fenris off, that statement just egged him on, doubling his efforts on Hawke’s sensitive, throbbing clit and slipping two fingers in easily into his cunt, repeatedly hitting the spot inside of him that made Hawke tense and his toes curl. He whined, grinding his hips down on Fenris’s face as he came, clenching around his fingers; Fenris flicked his clit with his tongue while he rode out his orgasm, causing Hawke to twitch every so often as he came down from the high.

When the last of his pleasure was milked from him, Hawke let out a long sigh and sat up, moving down Fenris’s body to sit on his chest and look at him. Fenris smiled warmly at Hawke, one hand running up his lover’s thigh, thumb rubbing circles into the skin there, pale and untouched by sun or battle. “Are you alright?”

“Never better,” Hawke replied, leaning down to kiss Fenris; he tasted himself on his lips, which made him shiver with arousal, his cunt tingling in post-orgasmic pleasure. He sighed into Fenris’s mouth, then noticed that the elf was still hard and his skin still hot to the touch. “Do you want me to— get you off, too, or—”

“What do you want?”

Hawke paused, pulling away from his face slightly. “I… I want you inside me,” he whispered, tucking strands of Fenris’s hair behind his ear. “But you need to be slow with me. It’s been three years.”

Fenris looked questioningly at him. “You haven’t been with anyone else in three years?”

“Well, I— no, and yes?” Hawke said, eyes darting shyly off to the side. “I went to the Blooming Rose a few times, but I haven’t been penetrated by anything bigger than three fingers since you and I were together.”

“Why not?”

Hawke seemed a bit surprised at the question. “Well… I don’t know. I didn’t feel like I could be intimate with anybody else, so I… waited.”

“For?”

“You.”

Fenris exhaled through his nose slowly, shaking his head. “Now you’re making me feel like even more of a fool for not saying anything sooner.”

Hawke chuckled. “It was a bit foolish.”

The elf laughed lightly as well, sitting up and shifting Hawke off his chest and into his lap, kissing him chastely on the lips. “I love you,” he breathed, hands resting over Hawke’s hips. “I love you so much.”

“As do I,” Hawke whispered back, forehead resting on Fenris’s shoulder. “Let me lay back.” Hawke lifted himself up off of Fenris’s thighs and onto the bed, leaning into the pile of pillows against the headboard. He took one and put it underneath his hips as Fenris watched him, a look of both love and hunger in his gaze. “Just… go slow.”

“I will,” Fenris promised, leaning over Hawke’s body to lay a trail of kisses over his collarbone. “Tell me what you want, and I will do it.” 

Taking his cock in one hand, Fenris guided himself to Hawke’s cunt, rubbing him over his folds in order to slick himself up prior to entering him. Hawke’s breath hitched the first time he passed over his clit, still a bit oversensitive from his orgasm. When Fenris felt that he was as lubricated as he could get without any aid— Hawke didn’t seem to have any around that they could use— he positioned himself at his hole and pushed in slowly, closing his eyes as the tight heat overcame him.

Hawke’s entrance burned a bit with the intrusion, but it very quickly accommodated to Fenris’s size, and the pain quickly turned to pleasure as he involuntarily tightened around him. Fenris remained there with just the tip inside, his breathing heavy, eyes looking expectantly at Hawke for another instruction; the man simply nodded wordlessly, giving the elf the approval to push deeper inside him.

Fenris grabbed Hawke’s hips as he bottomed out inside of him, groaning low and deep. “I missed this,” he murmured, giving Hawke a chaste kiss on the lips. “I missed you.”

Hawke wrapped his arms around Fenris’s shoulders and pulled his body flush against his, skin to skin, impossibly close. “You don’t have to leave like that again,” Hawke said, mouth against the elf’s ear, “I understand. I love you, Fenris, please, remember this, if nothing else—” 

He was cut off when Fenris pulled out and pushed back inside of him, the motion quicker this time, causing both of them to moan in unison; Fenris kept the pace slow, like Hawke said, but went as deep inside of him as he could with each thrust. The sun streaming through the window on the far wall over Fenris’s back only fanned the flames created by the height of his impending orgasm; he held back, though, for Hawke’s sake— he wanted to make the man come one more time before he did, watching as he writhed in pleasure underneath him, from his own doing.

“Fenris,” Hawke breathed, his palm grinding down against his clit, two fingers spreading his folds between which the elf pistoned in and out, having built up speed over the course of their love making. “Fenris.”

“What?” The elf met his lover’s gaze, pupils blown wide. Fenris hadn’t spoken much while they were lying together; it had mostly been Hawke babbling sweet nothings every time pleasure rocked his core.

“Come inside me.”

“Shit,” Fenris said, going still for a moment inside of Hawke, trying not to spill his seed right then and there. Had it been anyone else, he would have hesitated at the notion, but with Hawke, he knew it was more than alright; he had, at some point, told Fenris that he was infertile because of the magic that he had experimented with to control his body’s hormones, and, when they had become more intimate, that having a man come inside him was one of his biggest turn-ons.

Fenris was still intent on making Hawke come first, however.

He nudged Hawke’s hand off his clit and started rubbing insistently at it himself, synchronizing his movements with those of his hips; he more than succeeded at bringing Hawke from constant pleasure to a crescendo, hanging off the edge of his orgasm. It was one final pinch of his clit combined with a deep thrust that had Hawke’s back arching off the crimson sheets, one hand going to his mouth to stifle his moans. Fenris pinned his wrist down, not letting him do so; he wanted to hear him.

Hawke’s wall clenching around him caused Fenris to come as well, the release completely euphoric in nature as he thrust weakly inside of the larger man, not able to move much with the vice grip that Hawke’s cunt had on him. Fenris was not nearly as loud as Hawke, but his pleasure was evident in the way his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing came only in shallow gasps.

A couple of moments went by in silence, both of them too stunned to say much of anything— but there really wasn’t much to say, anyway. Fenris pulled out, slow, since Hawke was still rather tight, and the other man pulled him down onto the sheets next to him. He went in for a kiss, soft and tender as he brushed strands of hair slightly damp with sweat from Fenris’s forehead.

Fenris smiled against his lips, unable to contain the pure, ecstatic joy he felt at the mere idea of what he just did, whom he was with, where he was, how they both felt about each other— how he got there was not nearly as important, nor was when. He had spent too much time worrying, too much time lamenting.

Hawke pulled him from his contented daydreaming with a brush of his thumb against his cheek. “Lunch?”

At the word, Fenris became acutely aware of the emptiness in his stomach; after all, he’d only put straight up alcohol in it between that morning and the previous. “Is it not brunch anymore?”

Hawke laughed, rolling onto his side so that their lips and the tips of their noses brushed together; he smiled lovingly at the elf, though the corner of his mouth was pulled into a slight smirk. “Fenris, it’s well past midday.”

“I am hungry, yes,” Fenris admitted. “But… I wouldn’t mind staying here for a few moments longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd appreciate if you dropped a comment or a kudo if you liked this fic!


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